


Rainbows in the Dark

by lacat123



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abuse, Abusive Parents, Abusive Relationships, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe, Castiel (Supernatural) Needs Help, Castiel (Supernatural) Whump, Castiel (Supernatural)-centric, Dark, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Homophobia, Hurt Castiel (Supernatural), Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, M/M, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Rainbows, Sad, Slurs, Suicide, Triggers, college-aged
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-14
Updated: 2019-05-14
Packaged: 2020-03-04 21:26:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18821041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lacat123/pseuds/lacat123
Summary: Castiel always wanted wings, and there are rainbows coloring the sky above that bridge today.





	Rainbows in the Dark

**Author's Note:**

> Hey y’all! Welcome to this story, alternatively titled ‘All the Feels’. I apologize in advance. (Also, this has officially become the front runner of darkest things I’ve posted.)
> 
> Warnings are in end notes, but there are severe triggers. If you have _any _worries, please check below.__

He was eight, the first time he could remember. A passing glance, something not even a child would understand. An accident. 

His parents hadn’t seen it like that. 

The next time, he was ten. That was more deliberate. But it had still been harmless nothing more than two friends holding hands. 

The next time, he was twelve. His first kiss. You would’ve thought he’d learned by now. He hadn’t. His parents had the connections. They found out. 

There weren’t any more next times. He made certain of that. By the third time, the point got across. 

Because, at eight, it was a wooden spatula. Left biting pain and little sores. He couldn’t sit properly for a week. 

Because at ten, it was fists. Striking blows across his face and ribs and everything had just hurt. Bruises blossomed. All his friends were worried about catching his flu. 

Because at twelve, the belt came out. Brown-stained leather, heavy steel buckle. A man’s belt, his father had always told him. A thing of beauty. The belt itself was bad, welts crossing in lines across his back. But the buckle left deep gouges across the skin. He still had scars. 

He’d learned then. Had a lot of time to think, stuck on his stomach in bed for a week. No more glances, holding hands. And definitely no kisses. He didn’t really understand why. 

He learned to abhor touch. Couldn’t stand a single finger lingering on his skin for a second. Would break down crying and gasping. The teachers knew what happened, but they turned a blind eye. Money and power tend to do that. 

By college, he learned that everything he’d been raised to believe was wrong. He wasn’t evil, or a demon, for loving men. Not a fag or anything. Just a person. And that realization opened up new worlds for him. 

He met a man. Senior year of college. Beautiful, with dusty hair and smoldering eyes. Learned how to take him apart with barely a thought. Their love was passionate and fast, his first ever. 

The tattoo had been Luc’s idea. A way to secure their love, he’d said. Personally, Cas thought it was a bit obscene. But he did it anyway, for Luc. 

Didn’t take long for that to sour. Honestly, what should he have expected? His parents had been right, about everything. Turns out Luc also had a spatula, and fists, and a belt. And he used it exactly the same way. Followed by care and seemingly regret. But nothing more than a power move. 

He could feel himself being manipulated. Giving into whatever Luc wanted just like he had his parents. Being tied up, or dressed up. Whatever the fuck he decided on that day of the week. His grades suffered, as Luc insisted he stay home many days. 

He failed senior year. His parents cut him off. He didn’t have the money to reapply for the semester. He went to live with Luc. Became basically a living doll, trussed up however the older man wanted. As bad as it was, there was a sense of freedom in it. Being told what to do, when. How. But it wasn’t something he chose. 

After all those years, he wants to be truly free. Not shoved under his parent’s yoke, nor into some lace by Luc. No, he wants to be himself. 

He dressed himself, this morning, for the first time in years. Sweater that his parents said was ugly but he thought brought out his eyes. The stupid trench coat that Luc had tried to throw out but he’d hidden. The man had found it, of course. Wasn’t like he could really hide it. He got a few more scars for that. A pair of slacks, old and probably Luc’s. And, horribly, disgustingly, a pair of panties. He didn’t have boxers anymore. He tried to forget about that part. 

The weather was warm. He probably looked out of place, odd. Although that wasn’t really very different. He never really fit in. That happens when you’re out of school for weeks and flinch away from every touch or loud noise. He didn’t mind now, though. This spot was secluded. Perfect. He was alone. 

Wind was whipping through his hair. Shoving the black strands out of line and mussing it all up. He didn’t try to fix it. Always thought it looked better messed up rather than the combed, slicked-back look everyone else in his life preferred. 

The bridge was a bit slippery. The guardrail wasn’t exactly meant for people, and despite the height, spray still hit it occasionally. It sent a spike of fear through his heart. A nice adrenaline. Different from numb. He waved a foot over the edge, and laughed at the pure feeling of it. Freeing, like he’d cut the strings off and wasn’t a doll anymore. 

It didn’t erase the scars. The ones that lined his back in long stripes from the belt. A bite on his collarbone. Countless on his mouth from picked split lips. Not to mention the slight curve of his nose from being broken again and again and never set right. Or the series of shaky letters adorning his spine, marking him as Luc’s bitch. 

He wanted more, more freedom. As a kid, his mom would tell him he was an angel. That quickly changed. But the idea of wings, of flying, didn’t. He would draw pictures of little sparrows or magnificent warrior-seraphs. It was his greatest wish: to escape. 

When he decided on this plan, his date and time and everything, this hadn’t even been a conscious thought. Simply something he’d always known would happen. An inevitability, possibly even a good one. 

To finally gain wings and fly. 

He didn’t have long. He needed to do this. The bridge was tall enough that he would hopefully be killed on impact. Or shock would get him on the way down. He’d thought about a note, but the only one who’d read it would be his parents, Luc. Then what would be the point? 

He let go with one hand, held it in the air, hundreds of feet over the rushing water. Felt spray coat his palm, curled his fingers as though he could catch it. 

He looked up. Droplets caught the light, casting a beautiful rainbow across the sky. Tiny, as though it was meant only for him. Maybe one gift from God, to make up for everything else. 

Took a deep breath. Another. Heart pounded fast and flitting in his chest, but he didn’t mind it. Simply stared up at the colors, and jumped. 

Wind rushed around him, flapping though the coat and into his face. For a second, he truly thought he was flying. High above everyone else, free forever from the chains that’d bound him before. 

But then the shock hit him. Fast and cold and furious. He was falling. Seconds felt drawn into minutes as he stared up at the fast-disappearing bridge above him, the rainbow he could no longer see. His heart reaches a near-crescendo, getting fast to the point of no return. He gasped and struggled, but no breathe would come. 

He felt suspended in that state, almost dead yet still hanging on by one, horrible, thread. In reality, it was mere seconds. But it felt like an eternity. 

He was dead long before he hit the water. 

••• •••

They’d gotten the call a few fateful hours later. A group of kayakers saw a body floating along the stream, trench coat billowed in the water. The police fished it out. 

His parents were upset. They addressed their flock, crying tears far too large and sobs that echoed the emptiness of their hearts. They didn’t feel remorse. He was better off dead. 

The man’s husband was distraught. On the outside. Really, he was angry. After everything, all the training, he had nothing. Nothing except a room of torture and a closet of doll’s clothes. 

An obituary was put in the paper. Short and simple and not paying due to the man who lived. No one cared, though. Lives moved on, world kept turning. 

Out of all the tears shed, all the thing said at that funeral, only one could’ve been counted as real. The officer who responded to the scene. The same boy from when Cas was twelve, kissing on the playground. 

And, green eyes flashing, he told their story. Collecting acorns in the fall, to dumber things like ice in the winter. Sharing food and little fantasies. Beliefs and fears. 

Out of all the people Cas knew, that man was his only true friend. And the guilt he felt, knowing that if he’d just stayed, this might not have happened? It was insurmountable. 

His one, biggest, truest regret was not finding Cas’ body. Or even being scared off by a stern teacher back in middle school. No, it was for not letting Cas know that he was there for him. 

That he wasn’t alone. 

Because no one is truly alone.

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings:  
> Suicide,  
> Homophobia, including a slur (f*g),  
> Child abuse,  
> Abusive relationships, including implied sexual abuse. 
> 
> All the things mentioned above are present throughout the story. 
> 
> Remember that you are all loved. Talk to someone if you need help. We are here for you.
> 
> If you liked this story, please kudo or comment! Love you all!


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